the mess of protesting

At this point, I've been to 30 plus protests since last November. Must be closing in on 40 at this point.

I used to go to as many as possible, feeling the need to lend my body and voice, but am now more discerning. I'm not entirely sure what my litmus test is, but often it has to do with whether or not I've got the band with and energy to be out on the streets.

I used to write about every march, protest, and rally, but gave that up too. Hoarse from chanting, fighting a new kind of exhaustion, they started to blur and blend together. 

Yesterday though, a rally caught my eye. It was protesting HR36, a bill that just passed in the House, imposing new abortion restrictions. With everything that's been going on lately, women's rights have fallen a bit off the radar while they're still as under attack as ever. I made the sign above (although the real version didn't have an asterisk in it) and headed to Union Square Park.

I met a friend at 4, the called start time and turns out we were it. We ran into a photographer who asked if we knew what was going on. A couple more women with signs quietly ambled over, asking if we were the organizers. Eventually some more press and more protesters turned up, everyone trying to figure out who was in charge, what was the plan, were we marching, were their speakers? No one knew and so we took it upon ourselves to move things along.

We chanted, set up in a semi circle we'd haphazardly formed. A couple of Trump supporters showed up and that ramped chanting up to drown them out. At times I even wore a marshal hat and quietly encourage people to not engage in shouting with them, but to walk away instead. There were moments people wondered if the event was a ruse by the other side, to get people to come out and then target them. The whole event had a questionable vibe that veered into sad and angry - mostly that so few people actually turned out to support women.

Someone wrote slogans and phone numbers of congressmen in chalk on the ground in front of us. People took photos of us, some stayed to shout with us. For a small group we made a stand, but at the same time were trying to figure out how we all got there, since no one took ownership of the event. 

Photos appeared on the events Facebook page and someone named Mary responded to me, via messenger, that she'd just had surgery, was unable to attend the protest, that she was the only organizer and thought about cancelling, but chose not to. 

And then, later in the day, the event page disappeared, along with all traces of invites, interest, photos, posts, questions, and nebulous answers. 

My take aways: not all protests are created equal. Feeling safe on the streets is becoming more important to me. Organization makes all the difference. People are tired. And perhaps it's time to think of other options besides shouting and signs.